He quacked at her.
'Take that thing out of your mouth,' said Agnes. 'You sound like Mr Punch.'
He removed the whistle. 'Sorry, Miss Nitt.'
'Hodgesaargh, why - and I realize I might not like the answer - why are you hiding in the woods with your arm dressed up like Hetty the Hen and making horrible noises through a tube?'
'Trying to lure the phoenix, miss.'
'The phoenix? That's a mythical bird, Hodgesaargh.'
'That's right, miss. There's one in Lancre, miss. It's very young, miss. So I thought I might be able to attract it.'
She looked at the brightly coloured glove. Oh, yes - if you raised chicks, you had to let them know what kind of bird they were, so you used a sort of glove-puppet. But...
'Hodgesaargh?'
'Yes, miss?'
'I'm not an expert, of course, but I seem to recall that according to the commonly accepted legend of the phoenix it would never see its parent. You can only have one phoenix at a time. It's automatically an orphan. You see?'
'Um, may I add something?' said Oats. 'Miss Nitt is right, I have to say. The phoenix builds a nest and bursts into flame and the new bird arises from the ashes. I've read that. Anyway, it's an allegory.'
Hodgesaargh looked at the puppet phoenix on his arm and then looked bashfully at his feet.
'Sorry about that, miss.'
'So, you see, a phoenix can never see another phoenix,' said Agnes.
'Wouldn't know about that, miss,' said Hodgesaargh, still staring at his boots.
An idea struck Agnes. Hodgesaargh was always out of doors. 'Hodgesaargh?'
'Yes, miss?'
'Have you been out in the woods all morning?'
'Oh, yes, miss.'
'Have you seen Granny Weatherwax?'
'Yes, miss.'
'You have?'
'Yes, miss.'
'Where?'
'Up in the woods over towards the border, miss. At first light, miss.'
'Why didn't you tell me?'
'Er... did you want to know, miss?'
'Oh. Yes, sorry... What were you doing up there?'
Hodgesaargh blew a couple of quacks on his phoenix lure by way of explanation.